


Midnight Flyer

by getoffmyhead



Series: Unforgettable [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Geno Never Joined the NHL, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Team Canada, Team Russia, Worlds 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: For two hockey players from different sides of the world, finding time together could be difficult. Luckily, they didn't have to wait for another Olympics to manage it. With both of their professional teams eliminated, they were free to attend Worlds in May.Sid met Zhenya in Prague after a season spent apart intending to enjoy a quasi-vacation with only small interruptions of hockey in between. But nothing ever goes completely to plan.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Series: Unforgettable [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559743
Comments: 21
Kudos: 173





	Midnight Flyer

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read the first two parts! You guys really help keep me motivated. One more after this, and it's all done.

**Prague  
2015**

Sid’s phone started ringing as soon as he turned it off airplane mode. It was, not surprisingly, Todd McLellan, coach of Team Canada for Worlds--the coach had been in contact a couple of times since Sid committed to joining the team in Prague. Sid wasn’t about to be that ass hole and answer it while they were taxiing, so he waited and called back as soon as he walked off the gangplank into the airport.

“Hey kid, you make it?” Sid could hear the strain in his voice, remembered his disbelief the day before when Sid verified he was coming. Maybe the coach thought Sid was fucking with him, which would be a pretty weird prank. Then again, maybe McLellan was just worried about Sid making his own travel plans and getting to Prague separate from the team, which arrived earlier that morning.

“Yep, just landed.”

“Great. I’ll get a car sent your way.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a ride lined up.”

“What, Uber?”

Sid smiled to himself at the idea of telling the truth--that he was riding with an opposing team’s player to a hotel where he could get a long-overdue night of screwing him senseless. “Just a friend in for Worlds.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

“I am. You need me there today at all?”

“Nope, nothing today. Praccy starts tomorrow morning, nine a.m.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”

“Glad to have you on board.”

“Thanks,” Sid said as he exited through the nearby security gate--thankful he’d dealt with customs in France--and immediately caught sight of Zhenya straightening up. “I’m glad to be here.”

Sid might have hung up on his coach--he wasn’t sure. Next thing he knew, his phone was in his pocket, and his arms were tight around Zhenya.

It wasn't the first time they'd seen each other since the Olympics--not by a long shot. They weren’t even apart for three days after leaving Sochi before they were planning to meet up in the summer. Thankfully, there were only a few weeks left in either of their seasons after the Olympics and then the playoffs, then they could be together again.

Pittsburgh was out of the running in early April, though they took it to game 7 of the first round. Sid’s heart started to flutter when he looked at airline tickets, wondering if it was stupid to try to go out to Russia while Zhenya was still playing.

“You watch me play, I lose,” Zhenya laughed when he suggested it, and Sid couldn’t deny it. Every time he attended a Team Russia game, the team lost. There were probably other complications, too. Sid just worked out and waited while Metallurg won their division and then their conference.

And then Metallurg won the Gagarin Cup.

Sid wouldn’t have blamed Zhenya if he disappeared for a while--after all, he was a champion. It would have been entirely understandable if he was too busy celebrating with his team to call or make plans to meet up.

Instead, Zhenya called him from outside the locker room--Sid could hear the team celebrating in the background. “Okay, I’m done now.”

They met in Germany for an extended hiking tour that turned into a month-long series of relaxed train rides all through Europe. They parted long enough for Zhenya to attend Cup celebrations, then met up again in August in St. Lucia, where Zhenya lounged on the sand like a big lizard for two weeks before the KHL season got started.

That was the last time they saw each other--eight months ago. Even though they talked on the phone and texted all the time, Sid had started to forget what Zhenya smelled like, how he looked when he laughed, how he kissed. It was essential stuff Sid intended to remind himself about thoroughly during their three weeks at Worlds.

Zhenya nuzzled a cheek against his hair. “Hi, Sid.”

“Hi.”

“Have to let go to walk.”

“Walking is overrated,” Sid said, but he did let go and pull back. He was glad he didn’t have any teammates around because his smile would not have allowed him to hide his adoration. “You’re here.”

Zhenya looked so pleased to see him. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling on Sid to get him walking.

Sid jittered and fidgeted while he waited for his bags. He barely remembered to unzip his sticks and ensure they’d survived the trip before he started rushing them out.

Zhenya very politely didn’t go near his sticks, not even through the bag, while they loaded up the SUV he hired to take them to the hotel. Sid couldn’t help but be a little touched that Zhenya was working around his superstitions, even though he wouldn’t have minded.

Zhenya clambered in next to Sid in the back seat and asked, “Where you want to go?”

Sid looked at him sideways. Where did Zhenya think he wanted to go? They’d talked about this on the phone the night after the Penguins got eliminated from the playoffs. The one thing that would make Sid feel better was coming to Prague and screwing Zhenya for three weeks.

Zhenya looked perfectly placid like he wasn’t asking dumb questions. “Could eat first.”

“No. We can go out after we--”

“Or nice park,” Zhenya interjected. “Walk around for your legs.”

As Sid stared, Zhenya’s implacable mask cracked. His mouth twitched against a smile. He was fucking with him.

“Haha, very funny,” Sid said, relieved. He hadn’t been hooking up at all since Sochi. Way before they even talked about it, Sid had been taking things seriously enough to stay monogamous. The resulting eight months’ worth of sexual tension was a lot, and he was seriously looking forward to barely leaving the room.

Zhenya instructed the driver to go to the hotel and slouched back in his seat without a seatbelt, arm slung across the back of the bench, so his fingers brushed Sid’s shoulder.

They pulled up to a predictably extravagant hotel. Sid had learned, over the months since Sochi, that Zhenya enjoyed the finer things in life. Or rather, he liked things shiny and beautiful, but also as comfortable as possible and sometimes a little tacky. He was the kind of guy who would eat cheap Jif peanut butter out of the jar with a silver spoon.

The driver waited patiently while Sid got his things. Zhenya reached past him for his suitcase and left him to take the hockey gear.

Zhenya led him up to the top floor of the four-story hotel and to the door of their room. When he walked in, Sid should not have been surprised to find the place looked more like a luxury apartment overlooking the river than an actual hotel room. “Little bigger than our room in Olympic Village, eh?” he teased.

“You see the bed?” Zhenya asked, wagging his eyebrows. “So big.”

Sid dropped his hockey bag next to Zhenya’s in the corner. He leaned his still-covered sticks against Zhenya’s, too. When he turned back, he found Zhenya looking at him with tremendous fondness.

“What?”

Zhenya shrugged. “I like this. Both gear together. Like we’re on a team.”

“We are on a team,” Sid said, walking up to Zhenya to touch his chest. “You and me.”

“Not enough guys,” Zhenya teased.

“Not for hockey,” Sid said with a shrug and a coy head tilt. “But there’s plenty of stuff that isn’t hockey.”

“Like what?”

“Like...maybe you show me that big bed?”

A grin crept across Zhenya’s face, and he gathered Sid up in his arms to kiss him. Zhenya got them moving without parting at all, and down the hall they precariously went, kissing and groping and pulling clothes off. Remarkably, they made it into bed without tripping over anything.

They didn’t make it out of the room for dinner, opting instead to order room service, so they didn’t have to get dressed. They ate on the balcony overlooking the water, enjoying the last warmth of the sun as it set. Tired as he was from travel, Sid didn’t want the day to end, didn’t want to sleep and give it up.

When the chill started to creep into the night air, they rose to go back inside, and Zhenya stopped Sid briefly to kiss him against the balcony rail.

“Hmm, better be careful with that," Sid teased. "We’re only four stories up. Anyone could look up here and see.”

Zhenya’s breath puffed against Sid’s throat when he laughed. Either he didn’t take the threat particularly seriously, or he didn’t care who saw. The first option seemed far more likely, but it still felt like progress. Zhenya would never show Sid any measure of affection where there might be eyes--or more importantly, cameras--to see. Zhenya’s nonchalance seemed indicative of a future where they might--maybe not _hold hands_ or anything, but at least not jump away if they touched in public.

Sid wanted to stay and make out with Zhenya in the open air, wanted to push their luck. But then he shivered involuntarily, and Zhenya pulled back with a smirk. “Cold,” he teased, rubbing his hands on Sid’s arms.

“Yeah, maybe a little. Any ideas to warm up?”

Zhenya’s smile widened. He dropped his hand into Sid’s to pull him through the balcony door and straight back into the bedroom.

*****

Sid’s alarm went off while he was still deeply asleep. Back home, it usually started chiming after his rise into consciousness began, so engrained was his routine. But then, he didn’t often stay up so late or sleep so well, thanks to Zhenya.

Zhenya stirred when Sid reached to turn the alarm off. “No, you stay,” he mumbled, arm tightening around Sid.

If fondness could excuse Sid from his obligations, he would get away with skipping. His heart felt so full at the sight of Zhenya’s messy hair and squinting eyes, the sleepy pout of his lips. “Go back to sleep,” Sid said, because--like it or not--he had to leave. Team Canada was holding one of the only practices planned for Prague before the games started. It was important for Sid to attend because he missed the first week of preparation in Vienna while he was finishing up with the Penguins, being eliminated from the playoffs. Again.

That annoying thought was enough to break Sid’s mood and get him moving. Against Zhenya’s renewed protest, he pushed himself out of bed and went to get ready.

Zhenya was asleep again by the time Sid returned from the bathroom. Still, he stayed out of striking range while getting dressed and slipping out.

Nathan MacKinnon beamed at Sid when he arrived--always a ray of locker room sunshine. They crossed paths a lot in the two years since Nate got drafted, often training together in Halifax. Sid tossed his gear bag and slumped into the stall next to Nate.

“Sup?” Nate asked.

“Not too much. How you been?”

“Eh, didn’t make the playoffs,” Nate said with an easy shrug. Under the ease, though, Sid could see it. Only two years into the league, the itch was starting. Not making the playoffs was eating at him, driving him to get better. Sid knew the feeling.

“Next year,” Sid said because it’s what he told himself and his teammates when they got knocked out in five games. At this point, he said it every year. _Next year will be our year._

Nate’s grin amped back up. “Oh, for sure. We’re making it next year.”

Guys filed into the locker room while Sid got into his gear, a slow process as he greeted each newcomer. Still, despite the delays, he and Nate got out the door within seconds of each other and took to the ice before the crew even had all the overhead lights turned on. Sid snagged a bucket of pucks on the walk past the bench and poured it out over the boards.

“You know, I think a lot of people were surprised you came,” Nate said while he heel-toed a puck around in a restless circle. Sid knelt to stretch out his legs.

“Oh yeah?” Sid asked while he put his left foot out and leaned into the stretch.

“Sure.” Nate handled the puck under Sid’s right shin, where it was lifted by the toe of his skate. “I mean, after last time. I think they figured you’d dig in.”

Sid couldn’t help a disparaging sigh. Last time he’d declined to go to Worlds, it had been a different story. He’d been dealing with a nagging ankle problem at the end of last season, which just needed time away from the ice to heal. And, more importantly to him personally, Zhenya had declined to join Team Russia. So, he hadn’t gone to worlds. In return, the management of Team Canada and IIHF itself blasted him to the media, essentially calling him a selfish player, not advancing hockey for his country. Sid rolled his eyes, remembering.

“So is that it then?” Nate asked. He bounced the puck lightly off Sid’s skate and handled it in a circle around him. “They got to you?”

“Not exactly,” Sid said. “I wanted to come. I would have come last year, but with the Olympics and then the playoffs...” And the train ride to Cologne where they got a sleeper and Zhenya spent most of the trip dozing in his arms, gently snoring. “I couldn’t come then. But I wanted to come this time. And I think it’ll be fun.”

“Oh man, it’s going to be a blast. Are you kidding? We’re going to clean _up_.”

He had confidence, Sid would give him that. “Maybe,” he said with a chuckle. “We’ll give it a good shot.”

Nate grinned like he had no worries at all and skated away with his puck to weave across the blue line. Sid could hear the rest of his teammates coming, voices and thumping skates in the tunnel.

Coach McLellan kept the practice pretty basic while they learned to bring their individual styles together. They ran passing and shooting drills in tentative lines until Sid found some chemistry with Hall and Eberle on his wings. Then the team scrimmaged the top two versus bottom two lines for twenty minutes before calling it a day.

The locker room buzzed after a solid practice, and Sid caught Nate’s knowing look. Nate was right--the team felt special, even after just one session together. It felt like they could take the ice against any team in the tournament and win right away.

Russia had the ice scheduled after Canada, so Sid knew Zhenya wouldn’t be at the hotel when he returned. Instead of heading up to the room right away, he opted to take a long walk along the river while he waited, Googling impressive buildings on his phone as he found them.

He was in the middle of reading about a massive cathedral while idly considering whether to go inside and investigate further when Zhenya texted him. _You get lost?_

A glance at the time made him realize he’d been wandering for well over two hours. _Sorry, heading back._

_Come to lunch._

Zhenya sent him a location, a restaurant overlooking the river. It was close enough to walk, so Sid set off. Zhenya sent him a picture of the outdoor balcony, where he’d apparently decided they should eat, then another of the river looking radiant in the shimmering sunlight. Finally, just as Sid arrived at the doors of the restaurant, Zhenya sent a pouty selfie with a caption. _Too slow!_

“What did you want me to do?” Sid teased as he approached the table. “Run?”

Zhenya shrugged like he didn’t find the idea unappealing, fighting a grin. “Maybe. I’m so hungry. You take forever.”

Sid settled in across from him and looked out over the water. “It’s pretty here.”

“Yes, Alex say he come here for dinner. Say it’s pretty good.”

“Which Alex?” Sid asked suspiciously because he didn’t think he trusted much of anything Ovechkin said about food.

“Radulov. Good friend.”

Like a lot of players who only spent a season or two in the NHL, the name sounded familiar, but Sid couldn’t put a face to it. “Does he play for your team in the KHL?”

“No, he’s play for Moscow. We mostly are friend in summer. I know him from long time ago, playing for kids’ team.”

Sid must have met the guy before, then, if he’d been playing for the national team that long. He felt a little bad for not remembering. “We should hang out.”

Zhenya’s smile dropped a little, lost its luster. “Hang out?” he asked with concern filling his eyes.

“He’s your friend, right? I’d like to meet him.”

“Uh, maybe,” Zhenya said, withdrawing further. “He’s a little bit crazy. Maybe you don’t like.”

“How crazy can he be?”

Zhenya shrugged, and Sid let it drop. Maybe Zhenya still wasn’t comfortable having anyone from the Russian team know he was friendly with a Canadian. Sid didn’t really get it. He figured so long as they played like they were just friends, they could fly under the radar, but maybe even that would be too much.

The moment passed, and Zhenya relaxed when Sid slid his phone across the table to show him some pictures. Zhenya’s mouth pulled against a fond and teasing smile as he scrolled. “You go to only boring building?”

“Where would you have preferred, Mr. Tour Guide?”

“Go to, like, horse race.”

Sid fought a laugh but failed. Zhenya looked scandalized.

“What? Horse race is so fun. Building is just--stand there.”

“Alright, I’ll keep the hose track in mind for next time,” Sid chuckled, and Zhenya looked mollified.

Lunch was so lazy and comfortable Sid could nearly forget they were there for a reason, to play hockey for their countries. With Zhenya laughing with him across the table and the sun on his face, the breeze coming in off the river, Sid could fool himself into thinking they were on vacation again, just the two of them. What he wouldn’t give to be back there, holding Zhenya’s hand while they stood in the window of a train, watching the countryside fly by.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?” Sid asked after the waiter came to take their plates away. It was crazy. He knew Zhenya wouldn’t agree. But if he did, Sid was totally sure he would abandon Team Canada and get on the first train out of Prague, wherever it was going.

“Sure,” Zhenya said, and Sid’s heart skipped a beat before he continued. “Back to the hotel? Or horse race?”

It was almost a relief Zhenya didn’t understand the question.

“Hotel,” Sid answered, letting the thought of escape fly away, a released balloon. “Let’s go take a nap.”

They walked together back to the hotel, and Sid had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep them to himself. He wanted to reach out and grasp Zhenya’s hand. Having him so close after months made it so hard not to touch him all the time. He kept his cool all the way back to the hotel. He was prepared to reach for Zhenya as soon as he got their room open, but before he could make a move, Zhenya beat him to it. He grasped Sid by the elbow and turned him to kiss him, slow and sweet.

“You want to nap?”

Sid nodded insincerely. He definitely wanted to get in bed.

Zhenya brushed their lips together, not quite a kiss, just tracing his lips over Sid’s.

“Yes? Sleepy?”

“Yeah. Really sleepy.”

“We go to bed,” Zhenya said between kisses. “Only to sleep--okay?”

“For sure,” Sid breathed. His hand was fisted in Zhenya’s shirt like the world was spinning too fast, and he needed an anchor.

“We will be so good,” Zhenya murmured.

“Hands to ourselves,” Sid agreed wryly. He craned up to get Zhenya kissing him again.

They stripped each other while they crossed the expansive suite so that they were naked by the time they fell into bed. Zhenya’s hands were everywhere, running over Sid’s chest and down his back. They settled on Sid’s ass when Sid pushed his legs apart and crawled between them.

Zhenya’s hands grew bold while they kissed until his fingertips were dipping between Sid’s cheeks. Sid ripped away from his mouth to catch his breath, and Zhenya studied his face while his fingers explored. Sid pushed back against the single fingertip pressing against his hole.

“You want, uh--”

Zhenya reared back to raise his eyebrows at him. “_You_ want?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Zhenya made Sid retrieve the lube while he just laid there on the bed, all stretched out. Sid shook his head as he climbed back on board, straddling Zhenya's hips. “Lazy.”

Zhenya smirked and craned up to put a hand around the back of Sid’s neck and kiss him. “Give,” he demanded, holding out two fingers.

Sid upended the bottle and poured a line of lube down Zhenya’s fingers. It was in his interest to be cooperative, as he found out when Zhenya’s hand returned to his ass, spreading lube everywhere in search of the target. Sid nearly reached back to help so as not to have his ass turned into a slip and slide before Zhenya found what he was looking for and dipped a finger inside.

Sid rocked his hips forward to give Zhenya more maneuvering room. One finger felt like a lot, between Zhenya’s thick fingers and how long it had been since Sid played with his bottom. When he was alone, he seldom put anything inside himself--prep took too long and wasn’t worth the cleanup. But having Zhenya’s fingers--first one, then two--pumping in and out of him was reminding him why it was worth the hassle.

When the angle got too tricky, Zhenya smacked him on the hip. “Lay down.”

Sid obeyed and moved to lie down on his back. Zhenya knelt over him and pushed his legs up, positioning him without any preamble. Sid held his legs open expectantly, more than ready to get Zhenya in him, but Zhenya just sat back and stared.

“What?”

Zhenya breathed a laugh. “Serious? You just, like--wow. Think you don’t like that much.”

“I like it fine. So get on with it.”

Zhenya grinned and leaned forward to push two freshly-lubed fingers into Sid so deep his thumb rested behind Sid’s balls, just pressing against his perineum. Sid threw his head back--a little theatrical for what he was actually feeling, but he wanted to encourage Zhenya to keep it up. Observant as always, Zhenya circled his thumb there and crooked his fingers inside so good Sid’s breath hitched.

“Good?”

Zhenya wasn’t being smug but instead seeking real assurance. Sid jerked a nod. “Yeah, really good. Keep--do that again.”

Sid tried to keep talking, guiding Zhenya through making him feel good. At some point, Zhenya got too good at following directions. He had three fingers pressed just right inside while his other hand cupped Sid’s balls, and Sid gave up on doing much other than angling his hips and biting down on his moans.

When Zhenya finally got a condom on and got in him, it felt like a relief. Sid reached for Zhenya as he lowered himself carefully on top of Sid. Their mouths met in an uncoordinated kiss. 

“Zhenya,” Sid breathed to encourage him. Zhenya’s hand found his on the mattress, threading their fingers together before he started moving. He kept the pace languid, rocking his hips against Sid so that his cock only moved in and out a little bit, keeping Sid mostly full. It was distressingly good, particularly with Zhenya’s stomach rubbing on his dick at the same time. 

“Lift up?” Sid asked because if he didn’t get some pressure off his dick, he was going to come way too soon.

Zhenya shook his head and nosed along Sid’s jawline. He kept rocking in place, every thrust bringing Sid closer to the edge until he was begging, practically sobbing for his release.

“You come like this?” Zhenya asked.

“Yes, yes, just keep--”

Zhenya squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I do,” he said. He kept his hips going in a clockwork rhythm, steady as a metronome. When Sid came, he squeezed his eyes shut so hard tears leaked out.

Sid grasped at Zhenya to keep him from leaving when he reared back, but Zhenya shushed him. “It’s okay. I will--”

“No, stay.”

Zhenya stilled and studied his face like he was trying to figure out if Sid really wanted him to stay inside. Sid nodded and squeezed his bicep.

“Do it.”

It only took a dozen more thrusts before Zhenya stilled with a choked off noise and trembled there with his arms braced on either side of Sid. Spent, he eased himself down to press his face into Sid’s neck.

“Good nap,” Zhenya said.

Sid snorted a laugh. "Yeah, really good."

“Maybe need for real now,” Zhenya said, and he heaved his body up to pull out.

“Me too,” Sid sighed. He was a mess, but he wouldn’t put up a protest if Zhenya wanted to stay in bed and drift off, worry about cleanup after.

That was apparently wishful thinking because Zhenya patted him on the hip. “Shower first. Come.”

Sid groaned but forced himself up. He felt pliant and boneless, legs shaking as he crossed the room to the en suite and plastered himself against Zhenya’s side while they waited for the water to warm up.

Zhenya dropped a kiss on his head. “Feel okay?”

“Yeah,” Sid said with a content smile. “I’m really glad we decided to do this.”

“Fuck?” Zhenya asked with a sharp laugh.

“No, come to Worlds. I’m glad we’re here together.”

Zhenya tipped his chin up and kissed him. “Me too.”

*****

Team Canada practiced twice more before the first game, once a day for an hour and a half. On the second day, they didn’t do any power skating, mostly just scrimmaged the lines, which had solidified into something workable for the tournament. Russia kept to a similar schedule of practices and tape but mostly left their athletes alone to occupy themselves. It was a sharp contrast to the Olympics and left Sid and Zhenya with a lot of freedom.

Once the games actually started, they knew it would be different. Russia had been placed in Group B, and Canada was in Group A, with the two groups split up between two arenas. The arena in Ostrava was a three-hour train ride away. Even though neither team was planning to hold formal practices between games, the travel distance and the fact that their games always took place on the same day made things difficult.

Sid watched Zhenya pack an overnight bag on the morning of the first games and resisted the urge to pout a little. “You’re sure you can’t get a train back?”

“No, it’s too late. I check the train times. I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”

Sid groaned and flopped down on the bed. Unlike his early afternoon game, Zhenya’s puck would drop at night, apparently too late for the trains. “I thought everything in Europe was close together.”

Zhenya chuckled and walked over to kiss him. “I’ll be here early. Don’t worry. Tomorrow, we have all day.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Except it wasn’t okay. Sid came to Worlds to spend as much time as possible with his long-distance boyfriend. Having their games three hours apart really threw a wrench in that plan.

Zhenya watched his face and tapped a finger against the tip of his nose. “If you miss me too much, you come to Ostrava.”

Sid blinked--he hadn’t thought about that. His game was significantly earlier than Zhenya’s, so he would be able to catch a train out of Prague and go see him.

He thought about it while he bid goodbye to Zhenya and throughout his morning routine, which he kept as close to a typical game day as possible. It was boring without Zhenya around to break up the monotony. He couldn’t just pace a hotel room for hours, so he wound up going to the arena long before the game started.

Surprisingly, Nate was already in the locker room when he arrived, tossing a tennis ball against the walls while he paced around. He beamed when he saw Sid. “Hey! You’re here early.”

“I’m not the only one, I guess.”

Nate laughed and shrugged. “I didn’t really know where else to go. I went to like three museums today, and I think my brain is full.”

Sid felt a sudden pang of guilt that all he had seen of Prague was the outside of a few buildings, restaurants, and his hotel room. “Which ones did you go to?”

Nate launched into a long, meandering story about his day soaking in art and culture around the city. He didn’t sound like he had a tremendous natural appreciation of painting or sculpture--judging by how many times he used the word “epic.” But that didn’t stop him from enjoying it and Snapping pictures to his mom all day.

Sid got stripped down and changed into warmups while Nate talked and then followed him out into the hall, where the chatter continued while they kicked a soccer ball around. It was eerily silent in the bowels of a hockey arena without a team and fans and music to keep the echo out. The thump of the ball against their shoes and knees amplified harshly in his ears, a loud beat to accompany Nate’s voice. Sid was glad when he started to hear the rest of the team arrive.

“You should go with me,” Nate said, and Sid had been so intent on the footsteps of his teammates he missed it.

“Sorry, what?”

“Tomorrow. The astronomy museum.”

“Oh, uh... Sorry, I’m actually heading out to Ostrava.” And apparently, he was. He hadn’t realized he’d entirely made up his mind yet.

“Ah, catching the USA game tomorrow, eh?”

“Something like that,” Sid said with a secretive grin.

Once he’d made up his mind to go, the night went smoother. He slid into his pregame headspace fluidly, only half aware of his actions. He put on his pads, the same as ever, left to right, bottom to top. And then he went out to win a hockey game.

Latvia barely put up a fight. Sid felt sure the game wasn’t indicative of the remainder of the tournament. Still, he was thrilled to have the first game won so emphatically. He kept his head in it and supported Spezza and Nate on his wings. Their line totaled four of the six goals in their win.

When the game was over, Sid showered and dressed quickly to head out. He made it to the train station before the 7:30 departure and got on board the train to Ostrava.

He just barely made it to the arena in time to catch the last few minutes of Russia’s win over Norway. He took a picture of the scoreboard and texted it to Zhenya. _Nice job._

The fans hadn’t finished shuffling out of their seats after the buzzer before Zhenya texted back. _Here?_

_Yeah._

Zhenya sent back a string of excited, smiley emojis.

They met outside the building with Zhenya recklessly crashing into him with a big hug. “So happy you come!”

“Me too,” Sid said, gripping onto Zhenya’s shoulders.

Zhenya pulled back, looking delighted. “Come, we go to dance.”

“We?” Sid said very skeptically because he hoped that ‘we’ didn’t somehow include him.

“Yes, whole team. Well, most team.”

Sid’s skepticism didn’t abate. “You want me to come out with your entire team?”

“It’s just for club. Not everyone is Russian there.”

“But, won’t your team think it’s weird if you show up with me?”

“Maybe, but it’s not so weird. I run into you, say come to club. You say yes. Simple. It’s like, Arty is bring Morin from USA team. It’s big party.”

“Yeah, but the Americans were already in town.”

“Don’t worry, they don’t ask so many question. It’s loud. They are drink. It will be good.”

Sid’s final hesitation made Zhenya fidget.

“Alex is there, for sure. You want to meet still?”

It was a bribe. Zhenya had to go out or be questioned mercilessly, so he needed Sid to go with him and was willing to offer up his friend to get it worked out. Sid slowly smiled. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

Zhenya led him downtown and into a dimly-lit club with music thumping like a single pulse, uniting everyone inside. Sid stayed close in Zhenya’s footsteps through the main entrance and up a set of stairs to a balcony overlooking one of the dancefloors. Zhenya entered to a chorus of cheers loud enough to overpower the music and a bunch of big guys standing up to hug him.

Sid’s reception was chillier. Several guys looked at him for a long beat while Zhenya talked fast, gesturing to him.

Zhenya wasn’t done with his explanation when a familiar-looking man unfolded from a couch and bypassed Zhenya with a clap on his shoulder. He had very dark hair and grey eyes, and he held out his hand without smiling at Sid.

“Hello, Sidney.”

“Hi. Alex?” he guessed.

Alex shrugged. “If you want. Most of you guys call me Radu.”

“Us guys?” Sid teased, hoping Alex had a sense of humor and wouldn’t mind the pushback.

Sure enough, Alex grinned. “Come, sit.”

Zhenya tried to snag him as he followed Alex to the back of the balcony, but Alex swatted his hand away.

“No, he is mine now.”

Sid shrugged helplessly and kept following. Apparently, Alex held some kind of authority among the group, because the tension eased. The guys who had been looking skeptically at Sid shrugged and returned to their conversations.

Alex had a bottle of scotch and a stack of glasses set up on a table in front of a leather couch. He poured each of them two fingers and handed Sid one. Sid thanked him and sat mildly terrified of saying the wrong thing. He had no idea what Zhenya had told him, what explanation he’d given for why Sid was there.

“Zhenya says you’re here for USA game,” Alex said helpfully. Then he gave an impish little smile. “That’s what he tells those guys.”

“Oh. I mean, I am--”

Alex shook his head and took a sip of scotch, still smiling at the lip of his glass. Sid darted a panicked glance at Zhenya, who was leaned against the rail of the balcony talking to Ovechkin and a couple guys Sid didn’t know.

“Don’t worry about me,” Alex said, almost too low for Sid to catch. “He talk to me last summer about vacation.”

“He did?” Sid had assumed Zhenya didn’t tell anyone in Russia anything about the true nature of their relationship.

“It was important to him,” Alex said. “He’s never had a...friend like you before.”

Sid was grateful for the disguise from the dim club because he could feel his face and ears heating up. “Never?”

Alex shook his head. “Not boys.”

“What about girls?”

Alex gave him an admonishing look and said nothing.

“Sorry,” Sid said, shrugging. He couldn’t help being curious, but in fairness, he didn’t really want to know. Who came before him in Zhenya’s life was Zhenya’s business.

“No girls now, but you know that,” Alex conceded, soothing any worry Sid might have had. He didn’t really think Zhenya had a double life, a girlfriend or maybe even a wife back home, but it felt nice to hear it. They were exclusive, and Zhenya’s friend knew it.

Motion over by the balcony caught his eye. Zhenya wrestled away from Ovechkin--who was seemingly trying to put him in a headlock--and beelined for the couch to crash in by Sid.

“He’s a menace, eh?” Sid laughed. Zhenya looked annoyed, fixing his hair. Alex said something in Russian and leaned forward to pour another scotch for Zhenya.

“Da, I... Speak English, I can’t change fast,” Zhenya scolded him, and he took a sip of the scotch. Alex laughed at him, said a few more things in Russian, probably insults from the face Zhenya made in return and returned to English.

They made idle conversation, never straying far from the basics. Sid vaguely remembered something about Alex leaving the NHL in the middle of a season for some kind of drama, so he figured that subject was off-limits. He steered away from hockey in general, just on principle. He was surprised to find that removing their common interest didn’t diminish what they had to talk about. Alex was funny and sharp and got Zhenya laughing a lot.

“Let’s go to dance,” Zhenya said, more of an announcement of his intention than an actual suggestion. He didn’t look surprised in the slightest when Sid shook his head, and Alex slumped back against the couch and waved him away.

“No,” Alex said in a tone that did not invite argument. When Zhenya reached across Sid to playfully grab at Alex’s hand, Alex lifted a foot in a threat to kick him. Zhenya seemingly took it very seriously because he scrambled back. In his retreat, he grabbed Sid’s hand instead and yanked him with him.

“Ah, no! Zhenya, I don’t dance,” Sid protested while being dragged away.

“It’s easy, I show.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t easy. It’s mortifying.”

“No,” Zhenya said, apparently stealing Alex’s tactic. He adjusted his grip on Sid’s hand, and they were basically holding hands while Zhenya dragged him through the club, something Sid didn’t want to fight too hard.

The good news, as he very quickly found out, was Zhenya could not dance. He did, and he enjoyed it a lot, but he mostly just flailed, which put Sid at ease enough to make some kind of effort with him. Zhenya seemed happy enough to let him sort of sway to the beat and try to stick to the edge of the dancefloor. With all the people around, it didn’t even look like they were dancing together. Sid expected that was probably by design, Zhenya posturing in front of the prying eyes of his team.

Sid lasted long enough to start sweating before he threw in the towel. It was too loud to communicate on the dancefloor, so he just waved to Zhenya to signal he was going for a drink and fresh air, then started walking.

He got a beer at the bar, something darker and headier than he would usually drink and proceeded out toward the back. He'd seen a few people sneak out, cigarettes already dangling from their lips, and figured there must be an outdoor seating area. 

Sure enough, the club had an outdoor patio, a shock of relative quiet to contrast the pumping music. Sid could still hear the beat when the door closed behind him, but it wasn’t pounding in his head and rattling around in his chest. He went to lean on the low fence surrounding the patio, out of view of the door or the small handful of people smoking in the back. There, he sipped his beer while he looked out over the city of Ostrava.

Sid hadn't been there long when hands slid onto his hips, and he jumped. Zhenya chuckled low against his ear. “You leave me.”

“Just getting some air,” Sid said. His heart pounded in his throat and ears. Zhenya’s whole national hockey team was just inside, and his lips were tracing Sid’s neck out in the open. “Knock it off, eh?”

“Why?” Zhenya asked, hands tightening on Sid’s hips. “No one smoke. Coach hit them forever if they do.”

“_We_ don’t smoke, Zhenya,” Sid reminded him. He pushed back on him and turned around, beer in hand. He only got a sip before Zhenya snagged it away and took a drink, too. “What’s up with you? Did Alex give you like seven shots when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, I’m not drunk. I’m happy.”

“Oh yeah?” Sid asked. God, Zhenya was cute the way he was failing to fight back a smile, sipping his stolen beer. “Because of the win?”

Zhenya shook his head. “I’m really happy because you come here. Meet Alex. It’s stupid, but--”

“No, it’s not. It’s not stupid at all. I get it.” Sid got it more than he knew how to express. The strain of trying to date essentially only while on vacation made their relationship seem a little bit fake sometimes. He knew what he felt for Zhenya was real, but the actual mechanics of their interactions made it feel like a fling, something that could never last. Meeting a close friend, even getting to hang out with his hockey team under false pretenses, made their relationship seem special. Real.

Zhenya handed the beer back. Their fingers brushed when Sid went to take the glass, and he hesitated to pull away, eyes locked with Zhenya’s.

“Where is the team staying?” Sid asked, drawing the glass toward him before he got any bad ideas about kissing Zhenya right there.

Zhenya shrugged. “Nice place. Down that way,” he said with a gesture too broad to mean anything.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

Zhenya nodded. “Yes.”

“Maybe I can go get a room. Let you talk to your team for a while. Then text you where to meet?”

Zhenya’s struggle not to smile reappeared. “You want to leave, so I don’t make you dance.”

Sid opened his mouth to protest and ended up laughing when he couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. “No, that’s not the only reason!”

Zhenya pulled him in and kissed his forehead. It was risky and stupid, and god help him, Sid was pretty sure he was in love with him. “Okay, go. I be so fast here.”

“No rush. I know it’s important.”

Zhenya swatted him on the butt and followed him back into the club, where he snagged his beer away and shooed him out the door.

Sid probably didn’t pick the hotel Zhenya would have. Still, it was upscale and definitely in the opposite direction from the hand-waved location of the team’s hotel. Sid figured, no matter how much Zhenya rushed, he probably had time to shower, so he did. He grimaced at the idea of having to change into the same clothes in the morning, but Zhenya would probably perk right up if Sid suggested going clothes shopping before they did anything else.

He was still drying his hair when someone knocked. He wrapped a towel around his waist because he assumed it had to be someone from the hotel, but when he opened the door, Zhenya was there. “That was quick.”

Zhenya crowded into his space, shut the door, and shoved their mouths together.

“They didn’t think it was weird that you left right away?” Sid asked when Zhenya moved on to kissing down his neck.

“I only say to Alex, I’m go. He can say whatever. I’m sick.”

Sid really liked that guy. He liked Zhenya’s hands hurriedly untucking his towel like he couldn’t wait another second to get Sid naked more, though.

*****

Sid was right about Zhenya’s thrilled reaction to going shopping after they got room service breakfast. He immediately demanded a particular store, some designer Sid had never heard of, and Sid, of course, acquiesced. It didn't take long for Sid to find jeans and a black shirt. They lingered in the store, though, mostly because Zhenya wanted to bully him into trying on something colorful, “Just for fun.”

“No,” Sid said a dozen different ways, more vehemently depending on the vibrancy of the shade or enormity of the pattern. “But I bet it’d look good on you.”

Zhenya huffed every time. “I don’t want to look at _me_.”

When he got bored with it, Sid pulled out the ultimate weapon. “You don’t like the way I look now?”

They were out in five minutes after that, with Zhenya still looking a little scolded.

After Sid gave his things to the laundry service at the hotel and changed into his new threads, they had the whole day to themselves. They took full advantage, walking all around Ostrava to see the sights. Even if Zhenya did a lot of sighing about all the buildings, he could always entertain himself by sneaking touches and kisses in secluded spaces.

In the end, they were back at the hotel before dark and in bed together. It was hard to justify doing anything else when they knew their days were numbered. Even in the short term, Sid would be returning to Prague on the earliest train, and Zhenya would have to say in Ostrava for two more days playing back to back games.

Long after the sun had set and they’d gotten room service again for dinner, Sid lay awake on his back, staring at the ceiling. He thought Zhenya was asleep for a while, on his side facing away from Sid, but then he moved. Zhenya turned over and scooted close to put his head on Sid’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Sid asked in the silence.

Zhenya nodded. It seemed like it was not entirely true, but Sid didn’t call him out. He dropped a kiss on Zhenya’s head.

“It’s just a couple of days. We went for eight months. What’s two days?”

Zhenya turned his face into Sid’s chest like he was trying to hide from the words, so Sid shut up and just held him. They didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

Next thing he knew, his alarm was blaring. Zhenya groaned, still on his chest, and Sid reached for the phone to shut it off without disturbing him any further. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Zhenya rolled over to obey him, and Sid got up to get ready.

To his immense surprise, Zhenya was up and dressed by the time he emerged from the bathroom. He looked a little squinty and rumpled, but definitely like he was planning to leave the room. “Heading back to the team hotel?” Sid asked.

Zhenya shrugged. “Maybe. Come with you to train first.”

Sid’s heart swelled. “Oh.”

“You can buy tea.”

“Okay,” Sid said, pretending like he wasn’t fighting a grin. “Sure. I’ll buy you a tea.”

The walk to the train station took twenty minutes, during which Zhenya became more alive with every sip of the tea they got just outside the hotel. When they made it to the station, Zhenya was back to slyly smiling and sneaking little touches of Sid. He kept his hands to himself while Sid bought a ticket, but then pushed him back into an alcove to kiss him.

“Miss you.”

“It’s for two days.” Sid touched his cheek briefly and then pulled him to hug him. With his face hidden from Zhenya’s view, he admitted, “I’ll miss you, too.”

Zhenya held him for a long beat and then pulled away quickly like he had to or he wouldn’t let go. “Okay. Win the games.”

“You, too. See you back in Prague.”

With a sharp nod, Zhenya turned and walked away. Sid got it. He was feeling the same way, like he wouldn’t get on the train if he didn’t absolutely have to.

But he did. The puck dropped for his game in the late afternoon, which gave him just enough time to get back, drop by the hotel, eat lunch, and get to the rink. He absolutely had to go.

For the next thirty-six hours, Sid reverted to his hockey brain, the primitive creature that existed in the arena or on the ice and usually nowhere else. But Sid needed it. It was the drive, the autopilot that kept him going through the 82 games in an average NHL season, that got him out of bed when he was sore or sick or hurt. And now, when Sid wanted to be in Ostrava with Zhenya more than anything, he needed that side of him to carry the load.

They won the first game against Germany by ten goals to none. The second game against the Czechs was closer, but they still won. Sid stayed in the zone until the final buzzer. When he stepped off the ice and started down the tunnel, it was the first time since Ostrava he let himself think about the fact that Zhenya would be waiting for him in their room when he got back. 

It never occurred to Sid to check the score of the Russian game until he got back and found the room empty. Then he looked it up and found that Russia had lost to the United States that afternoon. He sank down on the bed and opened his texts. Nothing.

He was contemplating what Zhenya’s absence meant when he got a text. _Sorry, team meeting. And too late for train._

_That’s okay. Will you still come in the morning?_

Zhenya took so long to answer Sid thought he might scream. _I think no. Team practice._

Great, so Team Russia was humiliated by the loss and decided to make up for it by instituting more ways to keep Zhenya and Sid apart. Sid flopped back on the bed. _Sorry._

_It’s okay._ Even through text, it was an obvious lie. Sid wasn’t particularly okay with it either, but they had little choice but to live with it.

Sid gathered his thoughts and texted: _Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow._

Zhenya responded with a crying emoji, which was concerning until he followed it with a string of kissy and heart emojis. Sid smiled and returned a few of his own before he tossed his phone aside and heaved a sigh. 

*****

Without Zhenya around to distract him, Sid got up in the morning and went to the hotel gym. He ate a healthy breakfast and then went out to visit a few of the museums Nate raved about. In the afternoon, Sid went for a long jog down the river. He nourished himself, mind and body.

Sid hated every second of it. At least when he had hockey, he could let his hockey brain take over and minimize his capacity for boredom, for wishing.

Zhenya infrequently texted--enough for Sid to know he was okay. The Russians practiced for two hours. Reading between the lines of Zhenya’s texts, the coaches really beat the hell out of them.

Sid wasted no time checking the score of the Russia game when he got off the ice the next night, more preoccupied with Zhenya’s game than the one his team had just won against Sweden. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw the score for Russia--they won.

Zhenya beat him to the hotel and welcomed him with sweet kisses, and their quasi-vacation resumed, at least for the two days they both had off.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Sid said over breakfast. “Do you want to meet any of my teammates?”

Zhenya made a very doubtful face at him. “No. I have only Canadian I need right here.”

Sid faltered. “Okay. I just thought--I met Alex.”

“Oh, stop. Okay, I meet. Who is?”

“Uh, I was thinking you might like Nate. He talks a lot, but he’s nice. He’s from my hometown.”

Zhenya perked right up at that. “You know him? He from little town?”

“He’s not--It’s not _that_ small. But yeah, we crossed paths before the NHL some. He’s younger than me, so we never played together.”

“Good, I will meet.”

Predictably, Nate was excited to meet up with them for lunch at a café on the river and talked Zhenya’s ear off the entire time. Zhenya looked bewildered at first but quickly relaxed when he realized he wasn’t required to respond to or even understand most of what Nate said in rapid-fire English.

Everything was going so well until Nate said, “Did you guys know there’s a boat tour down the river? There’s a bunch of otters and birds and stuff, and the tour guides give you a history of the city while they go.”

Sid didn’t think Zhenya would go for it, but it did sound interesting, so he spurred Nate on. “Oh yeah? Did you already go?”

“No, but Matt was telling me about it. He took his girlfriend. Sounds romantic and stuff, so you two would probably really enjoy it.”

Zhenya, who had barely been paying attention, suddenly tensed. Nate noticed and slowly stopped moving.

“Uh, sorry. Is that--Are you guys not--” he stammered to a stop as Zhenya’s eyebrows drew down, and his mouth tightened. His eyes were hot, dark suns burning at Nate.

Sid subtly brushed a hand over Zhenya’s arm. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, breezily trying to get around the subject. Nate was sharper than Sid gave him credit for. He knew Sid only dated men, but Sid hadn’t actually thought he would assume Zhenya was his boyfriend. He probably should have realized the “friend from Russia” line wouldn’t cut it.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, man. I wasn’t trying to say anything,” Nate assured Zhenya. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Zhenya’s terse glare eased. He sat back with a resigned sigh. “Seem like everybody is know.”

Nate’s eyes got huge at that. “Dude, really? You guys are like in the--”

“If you say closet, I swear,” Sid said, jokingly picking up a butter knife to use as a weapon.

Nate opened his mouth and closed it again.

“But, like, yeah. It’s a secret. So if you don’t mind--”

“Oh, for sure, man! Don’t worry about it. I won’t say a word. But like, how did you guys even meet?”

“The Olympics,” Sid said with a shrug. Zhenya was squirming beside him, obviously not at all comfortable with sharing the details of their lives, so Sid refrained from stating _which_ Olympics.

“And, like, you’ve been dating the whole time? Man, how does _that_ work? Your phone bill must be intense.”

“It’s not that bad,” Sid said mildly, daring a glance at Zhenya to make sure he wasn’t about to lose his cool. He looked uncomfortable, but he wasn’t getting up to run away.

“That’s so awesome! Two hockey players from different sides of the world beating the odds. You’re like a Hallmark movie.”

Sid snorted a laugh, and Zhenya rolled his eyes, but then he settled, slumped back in his chair like he’d resigned to whatever came his way.

Zhenya didn’t say much for the rest of lunch, though he hadn’t said much before either. He let Nate chatter and Sid respond. He occasionally chimed in with a nod or, at most, a couple of words if they addressed him directly.

It wasn’t until they were back in their hotel room that Sid started to worry about his silence. Zhenya went out to the balcony as soon as they got back and leaned on the rail, looking tense. Sid joined him and ran a hand up his back.

“I’m sorry if Nate upset you.”

Zhenya shook his head.

“He’s a good guy. He won’t say anything.” Sid wasn’t even sure who Zhenya was worried about Nate spilling the beans to--Team Russia? He doubted they would care at all about Zhenya’s personal life as long as he kept scoring goals. The media would care, but Zhenya had to know nobody would talk to them--that wasn’t hockey.

Zhenya stayed quiet, though he did reach for Sid’s hand and pulled it up to kiss it.

“It’s really not that different from Radulov knowing, right? People are going to find out eventually.” At least, Sid hoped Zhenya didn't think they would be a secret forever.

“I don’t care--people know. Friend, family. It’s okay.”

Sid blinked. That attitude seemed pretty opposite of Zhenya’s feelings over lunch but okay. He would take it. Progress was progress, no matter how small. And maybe Zhenya just wasn't expecting Nate to be so blatant about talking about them as a couple--it had sure shocked Sid.

*****

They got one more day off together before Zhenya had to leave for Ostrava again in the evening. Russia had an early game against Belarus, and Zhenya would stay out there for the next day’s game against Slovakia. Sid could only pray Russia would win both so Zhenya could return on the third day when they would both be off.

Sid threw himself into hockey again. France put up a surprising fight, and Canada barely wrestled out a win against them. He felt a little bad, having assumed Canada would win. It wasn’t a smart way to play hockey, underestimating an opponent. Coach McLellan apparently agreed with Sid's assessment and ordered the team to a meeting the morning after the game against France.

McLellan showed a video of the 1980 Olympic gold game, Soviets versus a ragtag bunch of U.S. college kids.

“The U.S. called this win a miracle,” McLellan said. “And they were right. They had no business winning this game. But you know what the Russians called this? Lazy. They played lazy, bored hockey because they thought there was no chance they would lose. They were the odds-on favorites, the undefeated national team, and who were the Americans? A bunch of kids they’d never heard of. They played like they knew they would win. What does that sound like?”

Sid cringed. As captain, locker room motivation was more his job than the coach. McLellan was right. They’d played lazy hockey against the French, and it almost cost them. He endured the remainder of the lecture and paid close attention to the following tape on the Swiss. He left the room refocused and determined to answer the call.

Sid rounded up the whole team for dinner, something he really should have done before, he knew. They spent the evening bonding as a team. Without talking much hockey at all, they came together mentally. They all wanted to go back and prove that they were the best. If that meant beating the Swiss into the ground, so be it.

Every member of Team Canada showed up to the locker room early the next day. They warmed up together, played some hacky-sack and two-touch in the hall in different little groups, and generally stuck together as a team. Nate tagged along with Sid to get his pregame snack, talking his ear off the whole time.

They hit the ice as a unit. If the Swiss looked afraid, it was with good reason. Sid faced off against their top-line center with a flat glare. The puck dropped, and the game was on.

Seggy opened the scoring, but the Swiss soon matched them with a goal of their own. Sid could feel the crackle of annoyed energy on the bench, felt the urgency on the ice. With less than a minute left in the first, Nate put the team ahead with a beautiful self-effort, a headlong sprint down the ice and a shot angled up over the goalie’s glove.

From there, the scoring opened. Canada got three more in the second and two in the third, which sent the team buzzing into a 7-2 win.

Sid whistled his way back to the hotel room, where Zhenya was thankfully already lounging in bed. He crawled up Zhenya’s body before they exchanged more than pleasant greetings and kissed him with a purpose.

Sid barely had the patience for any foreplay. He rolled Zhenya onto his stomach and nearly opted to just put Zhenya's legs together and rut between his thighs. But he figured Zhenya would complain, and he didn’t want to be selfish, so he gave him a couple of fingers to open him up before sliding inside. 

Zhenya didn’t protest about the bare minimum of preparation. It was enough to keep him from being sore the next day if they went slow and were careful, and he could probably tell how desperate Sid was. He stayed flat on his stomach with his hands clenched in the pillows, legs spread while Sid eased his way in with his hands braced on Zhenya’s shoulders.

Sid kept the pace slow, grinding his hips against Zhenya’s ass with every thrust, but he couldn’t last. Maybe he was as worked up by hockey as some people liked to chirp because he was on the edge before he knew it.

“Zhenya,” he panted, hooking a hand against Zhenya’s knee to get him to raise up so he could touch him. Zhenya shook his head, though, and groaned.

“No, like this.”

“I can’t,” Sid whispered, half to himself. “I’m fucking close.”

Zhenya thrashed against him and reached back to pull on his hip. Sid could feel Zhenya working his own cock down onto the sheets, rubbing himself off, and that was too much for him. He started moving again. Zhenya angled his hips just so and then sobbed into the pillow, something soft in Russian.

“Push...push harder,” Zhenya begged, and Sid didn’t get it at first until he realized his hand was still pressed pretty hard onto Zhenya’s shoulder. Pinning him. Fuck. He nearly came from the realization--the implication that Zhenya got off on being held down--but fought it off long enough to obey. He returned his other hand and pushed Zhenya down into the mattress.

Zhenya squirmed a hand down between him and the mattress and barely got his hips up enough to get a grip around himself. He buried his face in the pillow, but Sid could hear his whimpering moans when he worked his hips desperately. Sid held him down and fucked him slow until Zhenya tensed up and came. Then, Sid could finally let go.

“Damn,” Sid panted. He guiltily drew his hands back to let Zhenya move and pulled out carefully.

Zhenya stayed face down in the pillow while Sid disposed of the condom and returned to lie beside him. Sid reached to touch his back, and Zhenya turned just enough to uncover one eye and a very pink cheek.

“You okay?” Sid asked.

Zhenya shrugged with a sweet, shy smile. “Yes. Thank you for...” he shrugged again, unable to complete the sentence. The blush on his uncovered cheek deepened.

“Of course," Sid said. Holding him down wasn't even _that_ kinky. He'd seen a lot worse in porn, but Zhenya still looked embarrassed, so Sid continued. "You know, it’s okay to want stuff. In bed. I would do pretty much anything.” 

“Yes, I know,” Zhenya mumbled, but he turned his face back into the pillow, as though the scrutiny was less preferable to suffocation.

“It was so hot,” Sid said, trying another tactic. “God, the way you came...”

Zhenya’s eye reappeared, this time sharply interested. “Hot?”

“So fucking hot.”

Zhenya looked relieved and lifted his head up completely. Sid took advantage to lean in and kiss him.

“Shower?” Sid asked when he could pry himself away from Zhenya's soft mouth.

“Sure. Maybe steal more sheets.”

That wouldn't be a problem. They already had to break into the supply closet a couple of times, since Sid was absolutely not calling down to the front desk to ask for replacements for their semen-stained bedding.

Sid kissed him again. “Sure. After the shower.”

*****

They managed to stay together in Prague for nearly a full twenty-four hours before Zhenya had to return to Ostrava to prepare for a game against Finland. Hard is it was to believe, Worlds was ending. They each only had two more games before the playoff rounds began.

“We play pretty early tomorrow, so I was thinking about coming out for your game,” Sid said while they walked to the train station.

“You will come? Whole game?”

“Yeah. I've barely even gotten to see you play the whole tournament. It sucks. I want to come.”

“Okay, that will be good. Text me.”

And he did. He texted when he got on the train, which got a response of about a thousand smiley emojis. Then he texted when he arrived in Ostrava with very little time to get to the arena. He texted a picture of the arena entrance and then a picture of the view from his seat once he was in.

It was a close game, well-matched. It came down to a battle of goaltenders, both hammered with shots. In the end, Russia let in three goals, which really wasn’t bad, considering the shot total. It would have been fine, had Finland not limited their goals to two. Russia got their second loss of the tournament, and Sid’s heart sank. Last time, the team had not reacted well to the loss.

Sid went to the hotel they’d stayed in before and checked into a room, then texted that information to Zhenya. He didn’t receive a response.

Zhenya knocked two hours after the game ended, and Sid rushed to open the door. It was after midnight, and Zhenya looked exhausted, irritable. Sid pulled him into a hug, which Zhenya accepted tensely.

“Sorry,” Sid said, because last time, at the Olympics, he’d tried to comfort Zhenya by telling him it wasn’t his fault and predictably failed.

Zhenya sighed and let him go.

“You’ll win the next one, eh?”

Zhenya grumbled something in Russian as he crossed the room.

“You’re going to have to speak English if you want me to understand you.”

“You don’t understand, even in English,” Zhenya said waspishly. Appropriately, it stung.

“I don’t understand losing a hockey game? No offense, Z, but try me.”

“What do you know? You know what it is for Russia? You know what this mean? It’s not just one hockey game. It’s mean so much because this is Russian sport.”

“It’s just one game--”

“_Two_ game. We lose two game. Before that, we lose Olympics in Sochi--that’s really bad. My team--Metallurg let me here for _win_, not fun. If I’m not win, they never will send me again. Why send to lose?”

“I mean, what choice does your team have if you decided to come to Worlds?” Sid didn’t have to beg the Penguins to let him come--he just gave them a heads up and went for it. “It’s not their decision.”

“You don’t know about it,” Zhenya snapped, looking so legitimately angry Sid had to reflect and wonder if he actually crossed a line. He didn’t think so, but Zhenya continued. "I am captain there, for my team I score most goal, get most point."

"Yeah, I--" Sid started before Zhenya charged on.

"So I come here and get hurt, then maybe we don't win again Gagarin Cup."

"That's a risk every team takes. It's normal. Metallurg has to know that."

Zhenya rolled his eyes to the heavens, seeking angelic intervention to get Sid to see--whatever he was trying to say. 

"Zhenya, your team can't really stop you from playing for Russia without a good reason. They definitely can't do it just because you lose a couple of games."

"My team will do whatever," Zhenya said, looking away from Sid and sounding--hopeless. "They don't want me to come, I don't come."

Sid shook his head, dumbfounded. "Because you think you owe them or--"

"No, team have rules. Like, want to keep player from doing some stuff."

"They want to control you?"

Zhenya shrugged, so Sid figured he was closer to the truth. 

"I mean...too bad?" Sid tried. "I don't see how they would stop you from coming. They can not like it all they want, right?" 

"They will do something. Make me--" 

Zhenya stopped himself, and Sid felt a rush of cold dread. He knew things weren't great sometimes with Metallurg, but he assumed the good must outweigh the bad for Zhenya to stay. Now, the things Zhenya wasn't saying, seemed almost scared to say, made Sid feel like maybe the situation was more sinister than he could have assumed. "What do you mean they'll make you?" Sid asked carefully. 

Zhenya drew in a long breath with a crease in his brow like he was thinking very hard. "You know why I don’t come to Pittsburgh? Team come--two men come at night to my house. They say, I can extend contract with Metallurg or maybe, like...bad things happen." Zhenya shrugged, looking mortified.

Sid could do nothing but gape at Zhenya. He'd heard the KHL jokingly compared to the wild west before, but he couldn't have imagined a professional hockey team sending men to bully a young man into extending. 

Zhenya continued. "They say--‘Sign only once more and _then_ go to NHL. Lots people do it like this.’ I think, that sound okay. Two year is maybe long time, but--they pay me lots money. Maybe I should do it. This way, there is no trouble.”

Sid’s heart dropped again as he realized the significance. A two-year contract would have put Zhenya out of range of Pittsburgh's hold on him through the draft. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’ I don’t think fast like you. It’s late at night. I want to call for, like, agent, but they say--no, it’s only for NHL. Agent not work for KHL team. My mother is crying, and my father say--it’s only two year. Two year then Pittsburgh. And I sign.”

And after those two years, Zhenya’s tie to the Penguins through the draft expired. They tricked Zhenya into losing out on joining the NHL team that drafted him, leaving him with no choice but to reenter the draft and probably go to another franchise. Sid reached for Zhenya, a reflexive urge to comfort taming his frustration with Zhenya’s mood. “Oh Zhenya--”

“Don’t,” Zhenya said, sneering. “That why I don’t tell you. You will say, ‘oh sorry.’ Sorry mean _nothing_ for me.”

“They tricked you.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s--” Zhenya said something in Russian, and Sid got the gist--just business. “They smart. I don’t want go to NHL for other team, get trade all around.”

“But why would you stay if they did that to you? That’s fucking awful.”

Zhenya snorted. “Agent say, also, like you. ‘Stupid boy.’ Hit me on arm.” Zhenya mimicked a swat with a wry, unhappy smile. 

“You could have re-entered the draft. Maybe the Penguins--we still weren’t any good in ‘06. Maybe you still could have--”

Zhenya raked his fingers through his hair and made a frustrated sound at Sid like he just wasn’t getting it. Maybe he wasn’t. As much as he understood the business side of the NHL, maybe things were just too different in the KHL for him to grasp.

“Okay, so you signed again. A long contract.”

With his arms crossed, Zhenya dragged his eyes back up to meet Sid’s. His lips were twisted into a mulish scowl, and his jaw was set. The wrong word would set him right back off, so Sid didn’t dare ask how long the contract was.

“But that only applies to the season. Right? They can’t tell you if you get to go to Worlds or the Olympics or--”

“They _do_, Sid. Very easy. Make plan for like charity game, interview maybe. Do it same time, then say I break contract. That can be really bad for me.”

“Fine, let them plan whatever they want. You’re not obligated to do everything the team asks, right?”

The disappointment that flooded Zhenya’s face struck Sid hard. He looked like he held so much hope for Sid and had it all dashed at once when Sid failed to understand.

“Come on, don’t look at me like that. It’s just a contract--you aren’t _owned_ by your team, Zhenya. They can’t tell you you’re breaking the contract by going to Worlds. Let them take you to court.”

“That’s not how it work there. Go to court, I will lose. Or--maybe I win, and people there will be really mad because I do this. My mother and father live in Magnitka, my family. It’s bad if I leave. More bad if I leave and, like--fight.”

“How could you not tell me any of this?”

“Because I don’t want you to think...” Zhenya put his hands on his hips and his head down. “Because--maybe we’re not work out. Like Nate say.”

“That’s not what Nate said,” Sid rasped around the panic welling in his throat.

“He say like--how we work? I think...maybe I don’t know. Maybe you can’t leave Pittsburgh, I can’t leave Magnitka. So, how we can work?

Sid took a deep breath and paced away. His head was spinning at how fast the conversation had gone from losing a game to potentially breaking up. “You’re not fucking serious right now.”

“You don’t know--”

“Fuck that,” Sid snapped at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a fucking prisoner, Zhenya. Even if you can’t go to Worlds or the Olympics, you can leave if you want. We spent all last summer in Europe.”

“So that’s how it work--we just only date in summer?”

“I--” Sid’s breath caught. They were both young, both had over a decade of hockey left. Would they only date in summers? Admittedly, that couldn’t work for ten years or more if they got really serious. “I guess--I don’t know.”

“Yes, you _don’t_ know, because you don’t think about.”

Sid’s temper flared again at the harsh accusation. “Sounds like it’s not really up to _me_, is it? You’re the only one who can decide to leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It is my _home_.”

“So you’ll give up playing for your country, traveling, maybe even trying for the NHL again. _Me_. For a team that treats you like that? That tricked you into staying?”

“You say you understand, but you don’t! It so easy for you, huh? You just leave team, maybe leave home, get in big court fight, and never come back. For what? For _boy_? You will do for me? You will _never_ go home for me?”

Sid stood, frozen but for the shaking in his limbs, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“I don’t think so,” Zhenya said. He sounded resigned, but Sid could still detect the bitterness underneath. Zhenya moved, and Sid was too numb to react. He didn’t do anything to stop Zhenya before he got out the door.

It was far too late for the trains. Sid was stuck in Ostrava. For a long time, his feet stayed affixed to the floor, unable to move. He eventually managed to drag himself over to the couch. With numb fingers, he looked up the first train back to Prague, set the alarm for early enough to make it, and turned on the TV to drown out his thoughts. He got five minutes into a nature program before the dam broke, and he started to cry.

*****

Sid didn’t think he would ever sleep, but he must have because he woke up to the soft sound of a rap at the door. He opened his sore eyes and checked his phone. It was incredibly early, way earlier than reasonable for housekeeping. He hoped there wasn’t an emergency as he padded to the door.

Zhenya looked just as bad as Sid felt. His eyes were red and watery. There wasn’t any anger in them anymore, only misery. “Sid--”

Sid was not ready for round two. He wasn’t ready for anything at all except a lot more sleep. Fortunately, Sid didn’t think Zhenya was either. He stepped back, Zhenya walked in, and he closed the door very softly.

“I’m sorry,” Zhenya said. His voice was rough, as though he’d been crying all night.

Sid reached for his hand and pulled him into a hug. If they were ending, he wanted to take as much with him as he could. “Let’s go to bed.”

Zhenya sniffed and hugged him so tightly with his face planted in Sid’s shoulder. “Okay,” he said, muffled in Sid’s shirt.

It was a long time before either of them made any effort to move.

They slept well into the morning. For Sid, the sleep was fitful, but he had no interest in waking up. Every time he approached the surface of his sleep, he forced himself back under. He didn’t want to face Zhenya or talk about anything.

Zhenya had no such compunctions, apparently, because he woke up and immediately spooned up against Sid’s back to pet his chest until Sid couldn’t feign sleep anymore.

“Sid, you awake?”

“Yeah,” Sid admitted. “You want to get some breakfast?”

Zhenya ignored that question entirely. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should never yell.”

Okay, so they were doing it right away. Sid took a breath and steeled himself as best he could with whatever remaining emotional defenses he had. “Do you really think we’re not going to work?”

Zhenya hugged him tighter. “I don’t really know.”

Sid swallowed. It was better than an optimistic lie, he supposed. “Do you want us to work?”

“Yes, of course. Sid. More than anything. I want.”

Sid rolled his eyes to try to keep back the tears that were threatening again. “Me too.”

“Good. If we both want, it will work.”

Sid wasn’t sure that was precisely true--not if Zhenya valued his reputation in Magnitogorsk more than his relationship--but he was out of energy for worrying about it. He wanted to feel like they might have a chance, even if it were a pleasant lie.

They got up eventually and ordered breakfast. Neither had the energy to leave the room or do much. They mostly just stayed cuddled up with each other, soaking in their closeness on the couch while they watched movies Sid barely paid attention to. They were talked out, hovering around each other in the space left over after the anger was gone and uncomfortable truths were revealed, but it still seemed important to stay near each other. 

“Only one more game in Ostrava,” Zhenya said after they'd been quiet for a long time. “Then we’re together the rest.”

“Yeah. That’ll be good.” Sid’s voice sounded strange to his ears, distant and flat. Zhenya must have picked up on it, too, because he hugged Sid close and soothed a hand across his chest.

“Maybe also we make plans for after games. You can maybe stay?”

Sid tried very hard to push away the part of him that wondered what the point was. If Sid stayed, he would have to email with Andy for his summer workout routine and figure out where to eat to get enough protein and for what? A couple more months before Zhenya threw in the towel? At best, a permanent long-distance relationship?

“Sid?” Zhenya asked meekly, growing insecure in the silence.

“Yeah,” Sid said because he couldn’t give up yet. Maybe it would end, but not because he didn’t try. “I can stay.”

“Good. We will stay. Go to Italy after for sunshine.”

Sid tucked up against Zhenya and kissed the hollow of his throat, trying not to feel like they were putting tape on a shattered vase, and nodded. “Okay.

To maximize their time, Sid took the latest train back to Prague. It was the final time he would make the trip. The playoffs were starting, and they only had three games left before the end.

Back in Prague, Sid boxed up his relationship problems and pushed them into a corner of his mind. He had plenty to focus on with hockey, getting his team through the quarterfinals and one step closer to the championship.

Canada had a quarterfinals problem at Worlds. They’d been eliminated five years in a row, a situation some had taken to calling a curse. Sid walked into a quiet locker room before the early afternoon game against Belarus as a result. He could feel the nervous tension, mainly out of the guys who had been at Worlds before.

Sid paid extra attention to his routines. He couldn't afford to add to the affliction that repeatedly kept Canada from winning at this stage. He thought the additional firepower on the team this year would help, but he was taking no chances. Sid could tell everyone was thinking the same thing, carefully icing their injuries and maintaining their schedules with rigid specificity. 

Thankfully, with a pass to Burnsy half a minute into the game, Sid took the tension out of the bench and put Canada up 1-0. They still played with urgency, but not desperation, and as a result, they won the game 7-0 to break the curse.

Sid’s hockey brain was overjoyed, as giddy as the rest of his teammates. He let that giddiness carry him through the post-game interviews, showering, and leaving. He even agreed to go out with teammates, riding the wave of joy out to a club to have a couple glasses of wine.

All told, Sid didn’t have to be alone with his own thoughts until after midnight, when he got back to his hotel. In the quiet, his hockey brain dimmed. The box full of his tumultuous emotions rattled, again threatening to spill out over his mind and take over.

Sid was in bed reading on his phone to keep from thinking when the door clicked. Zhenya had explicitly said he would be back in the morning, but when Sid scrambled up to go see who was entering, there Zhenya was. He was toeing off his shoes by the door, looking totally wiped out.

“Zhenya,” he breathed. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

“I run to make the last train,” Zhenya said with a self-conscious shrug. “I want to see you. It’s okay?”

Sid gave up on holding himself back and crossed the room to throw his arms around Zhenya’s shoulders. “Yeah. It’s really okay.”

Zhenya hugged him tight and breathed against his shoulder, and for a moment, everything felt fine between them again.

They woke up with the semifinals looming. Since Russia had won against Sweden, they were scheduled to play the United States for the chance to compete in the final. Canada would play either way but only advanced to the gold medal round if they won.

And somehow, none of that mattered when they woke up in each other’s arms. It all seemed unimportant when they were sharing long kisses in the morning light--even more when Zhenya crawled on top of Sid and pulled his underwear down. Hockey seemed like everything else at that moment: dim and far away.

*****

Canada played their semifinal first in the afternoon, with Russia and the United States taking the evening game. Team Canada had scheduled a breakfast before a last-minute strategy meeting, so Sid had to leave early. He did so with a lingering kiss on Zhenya’s temple. Zhenya woke just long enough to reciprocate and then snuggled back into the pillows to allow Sid to pull free.

Sid ate his oatmeal with Nate and Seggy flanking him, which meant he barely had to contribute to keeping the chat going. Either one of them could talk to a park bench for several hours, so bouncing off of each other provided an endless flow of conversation.

The Czechs were a great defensive team with a few key offensive powerhouses, McLellan explained in their subsequent team meeting. Canada’s usual strategy of attack wouldn’t work as well against them. They had to play smart, conservative hockey, shut down breakaways, and find prime scoring opportunities in front of the net.

“We made it past the quarterfinals. We broke the curse. If we go to the bronze game, we’ve already done better than any Canadian team in this tournament in years. And if that was good enough for any one of you, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be on a beach in Panama getting a tan. So stay hungry, stay smart, and let’s get into the gold medal round.”

They did just that. The team kept themselves from getting distracted by outside influences by sticking in Canadian clusters for light lunches and workouts before convening at the arena. They kept their focus, their eyes firmly on the prize. And they won. The team played smart, conservative hockey and won. Sid was swimming in smelly Canadians, a twenty-man hug on the ice, and they were going to the gold medal game.

They broke apart with some measure of decorum to shake hands with the Czechs, and then Sid got tied up with an interview on the bench while his team went to the locker room. By the time he followed them, the tunnel was empty. Sid got halfway down it before somebody whistled to his right, a turnoff to go toward another set of locker rooms, and got his attention.

Zhenya was wearing his base layers already, obviously about to start getting into his pads. He smiled at Sid like nothing was ever wrong between them. “Good game,” he said softly.

Sid’s heart still jumped at Zhenya’s approval. “Thanks. Go get ‘em.”

Zhenya’s smile looked so fond and--dare he think--loving, Sid had to force himself to walk away from it.

Back in the locker room, most of Team Canada had already decided to stay for the next game to see who their opponent would be. And that was when it really hit Sid--if Russia won, he and Zhenya would play for the gold medal.

Sid huffed out a breath as the concept punched him in the stomach, and Nate smiled over. “Tired?”

“Uh...”

“We could get some coffee before the game. I bet we have time. Oh, and ice cream.”

“Coffee and ice cream?” Sid asked distantly, brain still focused on the real problem.

“Sure, you take vanilla soft-serve and put it in the coffee like creamer and--bam. Caffeine and sugar.”

It just sounded like a recipe for kind of gross, tepid coffee to Sid, who skirted around the idea. “I don’t know if I’m staying.”

“You aren’t? Your boy--ah...I thought you would be interested. In the game. Because of, you know.”

Nate’s subtly knew no bounds. “No, I don’t think so,” Sid said distantly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be around his team or anyone who could potentially read him when the game ended. Either he would be devastated because Zhenya lost, or he would be apprehensive because Zhenya was their gold medal opponent. “I’m actually kind of beat.”

“You’re seriously taking off?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to catch the game on the TV at my hotel.”

“Alright, man. I gotcha. No worries.” Nate winked at him. Sid internally evaluated his choices about people he trusted.

Sid got back to the hotel after the puck dropped and ordered up a bottle of red wine. He put the game on the TV but waited for the wine before he got the nerve to watch it. Once he had a glass in his hand, he eased himself onto the couch and settled in to watch.

Russia clearly had something to prove against the States after losing to them earlier in the tournament. Zhenya especially looked like a man possessed. He hammered the net, creating scoring chances and opening lanes. At the end of the first, he fired a shot only stopped by luck and superhuman reflexes from the U.S. goalie.

Even though the U.S. outshot Russia, Sid could tell Russia would win. They simply looked determined, utterly unwilling to go down. Russia scored the first one late, which was shortly followed by two more. Sid cheered when Zhenya got the empty netter to give the game a final score of 4-0.

And then, in the silence that followed, Sid sat and worried about the final the next day. It would be Canada versus Russia, him against Zhenya, both of them with something to prove.

Zhenya breezed through the door and beelined for him, apparently not having any of the same worries about playing each other. He kissed Sid enthusiastically, straddling his thighs on the couch, and Sid momentarily forgot to worry about anything, too.

They were lying together with their clothes strewn everywhere when Sid finally got to say, “So...we play each other.”

“Yes,” Zhenya said. He reared back to look at Sid contemplatively, then smiled. “It will be fun.”

“Fun?” Sid asked doubtfully.

“Yes. It will be fun to play. Russia will win. You will pout,” Zhenya teased, running his thumb along Sid’s lower lip. “But you will see, I’m strong. Best.”

“I already think that.”

Zhenya hummed doubtfully. “You will see.”

In some strange way, Sid almost hoped Russia would win. He wouldn’t _let_ them, of course. That would cut against his very nature. But if they did win, if Russia beat Canada, it would be a comfort to know how much it meant to Zhenya.

Sid woke up on the morning of the gold medal game with his top line Russian opponent rubbing a hard-on against his ass, still mostly asleep. When they got up and left the room, they would be enemies. Sid would inch his foot into the faceoff circle ahead of the puck drop, and Zhenya would throw elbows. They would be who they were on the ice, opponents. Strangers, even though they were so much more to each other now than the last time they faced off.

Sid woke Zhenya up with a blowjob to savor the last few, fleeting moments together before they went to war. Then he jerked off onto Zhenya's skin like he could paint him, mark him as Sid’s for the world to see and keep him forever.

They kissed for a long time at the door. Then Zhenya pulled back, offered a little grin, and said, “Good luck.”

“You, too.”

After that, the day was pretty much like any other game day. Sid met the team for breakfast, went over strategy with his line, napped, ate again, then went to the arena. He warmed up, watched tape, stretched, and snacked. Sid got into his pads, bottom to top, left to right. He kept his head down during warmups, completed his handling drills, shot five times. And then he went out to the roar of the crowd to play a hockey game.

Sid didn’t take the first faceoff, but neither did Zhenya. They both went out at the same time, over the boards into the neutral zone on a Canadian possession. He was acutely aware of Zhenya, not just because of his familiarity, but because Zhenya shadowed him. Clearly, he’d been assigned to shut Sid down. Sid chased the puck into the boards and braced, fully expecting Zhenya to check him.

Nothing came. Sid pushed the puck out, and nobody ever touched him. He darted a surprised look at Zhenya, who seemingly ignored him.

It happened again later in the first. Still, it was arguable that Zhenya was merely trying to keep with the momentum of the play. As a center, he needed to be able to get back. If he threw his weight into checking Sid, he would wind up a beat behind the play.

That idea lasted until Sid dug in behind Russia’s net, where Zhenya was defending already. He didn’t need to keep ahead of the play or rush to break out. There was only one move for him when Sid got possession: check him.

Sid saw him coming in on his left and pushed the puck to his right. Zhenya would finish the check. His momentum wouldn’t let him do anything else in that split second. Sid braced to take it.

Zhenya barely brushed his shoulder while he ran the full weight of his check into the boards like he’d missed. Sid had a breath to lock eyes with him, no time to communicate, but he saw the look on Zhenya’s face. Sid was wrong--Zhenya wasn’t hitting him on purpose. Zhenya hadn’t come to the ice and become a stranger. He was protecting Sid as much as he could by taking the job of matching with him and then refusing to hit him.

Sid lagged behind the play back to his bench, shaken up by the realization. McLellan clapped his shoulder, and he jumped.

Canada won the game 6-1, and Zhenya never stepped up defensively. He could have, at any point, turned the game by laying Sid out, forcing him off the puck. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed the outcome, but it would have at least halted some of Canada’s momentum. While Sid was happy to have won the gold, he felt uncomfortable knowing that at least one member of the opposing team had gone easy on them.

His next thought was that his relationship was definitely over. Zhenya had gone easy on him, and Sid hadn’t done the same. With the strain already on them from fighting, Sid had pushed them over the edge into oblivion.

Zhenya only briefly met his gaze when their hands touched in the handshake line. Sid couldn’t read what he saw there, but the unease in his gut didn’t abate.

Thankfully, after winning gold, there were plenty of opportunities to not go back to the hotel. The team celebrated in the locker room until they spilled out into the halls and then out of the arena. They hopped from club to bar in a massive gaggle for hours until, one by one, and starting with the oldest among them, they began to fall off to go to bed.

Sid stayed with the young guys, sticking close to Seggy and Nate. He endured Seggy’s terrible flirting with girls and guys and, he was reasonably sure, a dog. At one point, Seggy even threw his arm around Sid until Sid ducked smoothly away and steered him toward another, more interested person.

After 1 a.m., Sid dared to check his phone. He had dozens of texts, mostly just congratulations. But he had three from Zhenya.

At 10:30, he’d sent, _Come back tonight?_

An hour after that, _Please come._

Then, at midnight, he’d sent a picture of a large piece of chocolate cake. A bribe, like Sid was an animal in need of coaxing.

Sid's heart raced while he stared at his phone. Zhenya didn’t seem upset with him at all. It was more than he could have possibly hoped for after the game.

Sid got up from his barstool. “I’m calling it. You two, please--don’t get arrested.”

“No problem, Capt’n!” Seggy said with a huge grin.

“Yeah, we’ll be good,” Nate agreed, and his smile did nothing to quell the sense of unease in Sid’s gut. He wished Sharpy were here to be the rookie whisperer like he was in Sochi, keep everybody contained and relatively sober. But, there was nothing to be done about it. Nate and Seggy were grownups, not even that much younger than Sid, and he had his own interests to pursue.

Sid took an Uber back to the hotel to get back fast and rushed up to the room.

Zhenya was slumped on the couch, flipping channels while looking utterly miserable, but he visibly brightened at the sight of Sid. “You come!” he cried, jumping up.

“Sorry,” Sid said lamely as Zhenya walked into his arms. “We went out and--”

“I was so worry. You don’t text.”

“Yeah, I was--I guess I was a little scared.”

Zhenya reared back to look at his face. “Scare?”

“That, you know. You might be mad at me.”

Zhenya shook his head emphatically. “No! You play a good game. Sucks we lose, but we lose to best team.”

“But you said your team--”

“That comes later. Right now, you win. Get cake.”

Sid let the tension flow out of him with relief that Zhenya seemed so genuinely happy for him. “Okay. Yeah. Cake.”

They ate the cake together on the couch, snuggled up close.

“Hey,” Sid said when things were quiet and calm. “Why didn’t you check me?”

Zhenya shifted and swallowed, not speaking right away. He knew what Sid meant, and he wasn’t going to deny it. “When we’re watch tape, Coach is saying, hit Crosby hard. Try to hurt. I can’t do that, can’t let anyone.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to lay off checking me at all.”

“It’s _weird_, Sid. Hit you is...not okay for me.”

“It’s hockey.”

“Not always. If I hit you to win, that’s not me.”

Sid was feeling a little guilty before Zhenya lightly ran a hand down his arm.

“You also don’t hit me.”

“What? Yes, I...” Sid trailed off. No, he hadn’t. He couldn’t think of a single check against Zhenya the whole game.

“See? It’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. He hadn’t consciously thought about it on the ice, but now that he did--it would have been weird to hit his boyfriend, game-related or not. Maybe he didn’t have as much to feel guilty about as he thought.

They cuddled in silence for another long stretch before Zhenya said, “I change my mind.”

“Oh?” Sid asked. He figured from Zhenya's light tone it wasn't anything terribly worrying. 

“Let’s go to Ibiza. Not Italy.”

“We’ve got all summer,” Sid said. “Why not both?”

Zhenya grinned and leaned in to kiss him. Sid knew he would give Zhenya as much of the summer as he could spare, disrupting his own routines. He didn't know if they would make it past the summer or if they had a real future, but he planned to give it everything he could for as long as they had a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Hockey tournaments _are_ occasionally played in cold places during snowy times, right? I'm sensing a pattern. 
> 
> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/getoffmyhead)  



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